Home
by lilly32261
Summary: T because I'm paranoid. When someone from Neal's past shows up, things get rather complicated and dangerous for everyone close to him. Finished!
1. Chapter 1

**I don't own anything. Sadly. **

Neal stared down at his anklet. He turned the key in his fingers, feeling the conflicting emotions. He knew Peter would never forgive him for this if he did. And if he didn't… well, there was a lot to be lost there too.

His eyes darted up to Moz. The balding man sat across from him, wearing a nondescript shirt that might be blue, or brown, or somewhere in between black and purple. Neal didn't really know; if he looked at it for too long his friend started to fade into the background. Neal suspected that the goal of the shirt was something along those lines. His friend was doing his best to avoid the con's stare, his eyes carefully averted to his glasses that he was avidly polishing on his shirt.

Neal sighed. "Moz, I'm not sure I want to do this."

Slowly, Mozzie drew his attention away from his glasses. "Neal, it's not my choice to make," he pointed out. "But it eventually boils down to the Suit or New York. Which do you want?"

Neal shook his head, frowning slightly. "I don't know," he whispered, his eyes being inexorably drawn back to the glass doors leading out to the terrace. The City that Never Sleeps was lit up in all its nighttime glory, the lights glittering and sometimes seeming to shift slightly in the warm summer night.

He found himself standing and beginning to pace. Eventually his feet led him to the glass doors, and he stared at his reflection, shocked at how different he looked. There were heavy bags perched underneath his eyes, and a scratch marred his face, stretching from his temple to the corner of his mouth. His eyes had a slightly haunted look, and there was something in his expression that he couldn't place.

After a few minutes, Mozzie broke the silence, not turning around to face Neal. "You do realize that this shouldn't be a hard choice, right?" He paused. "I mean, a Fed compared to a city. I'd choose the city… but…"

Neal shrugged slightly. He knew that Moz was more attached to Peter and El than he would admit. For him, there were slightly different reasons. If he left, yes he would be saving Peter's life, but he would be leaving behind the place that had effectively changed him from the awkward teen who had come here to try and make a living to the charming and debonair con man and art thief… the titles stretched on. Alleged titles, anyway. But, even more than that, this was the place where Kate had died, the place where the little bit of her remains were. Somehow, he couldn't bring himself to drop it all and walk away from that.

No, some little part of him protested. You can't bring yourself to walk away from the life Peter's given you that you have here. You can't bring yourself to walk away from helping the FBI under the supervision of an agent who is now more than a partner, an agent who has become a friend.

That did it. "I'm doing this for Peter," he mumbled, the chair squealing as he dragged it away from the table and put his foot on it. "Moz, are you ready?"

Mozzie nodded. "Yeah. As soon as you cut it, I can be on a plane to Barcelona or something. Just say the word."

Neal hesitated for a second and then shook his head. "Go now. I know what I need to do, and I'd rather not be the direct cause of Dante Haversham's arrest. Get your plane ticket and go. I'll be in touch."

The vertically challenged man nodded once and then moved toward the door. His hand rested lightly on the knob; Neal could see him about to turn it when he turned around. "Neal, I just want to say it was nice seeing you again. Goodbye."

Neal nodded. "You too, Moz, you too. I'll be back, remember. Consider this… a brief hiatus."

Mozzie shifted slightly away from the door. "Neal, are you sure you want me to leave…? Remember: 'Good friends are like the ivy and the wall; together they stand and together they fall.'"

Neal didn't hesitate this time. "I'm sure Moz. No falling together this time. If we do it right neither of us will fall. And an anonymous quote of my own: 'A partner in crime, a thief of time, you will always be there for me in the end, you are always my dearest friend.'"

Moz dipped his head once and then turned away and left the room. Neal watched him go with a twinge of guilt. He didn't doubt that he would see his friend again, but he knew that they had run their last con together.

Pushing those thoughts from his mind, Neal reached for a pad of paper lying on the table. He hastily scrawled a note with the stub of a pencil carelessly thrown to the side and then addressed it to Peter.

_Goodbye, Peter. Thanks for everything. Tell El that I won't forget either of you. Tell June thanks for letting me stay here. But most of all, Peter, thank you for getting me out of jail. Thanks for saving my butt all those times. Thank you for being a friend, the only person I can trust. This will get the target off your back. _

_Have a nice life._

_NC_

He took a deep breath, and then removed his anklet for the last time.

**Hey, let me know what you think. And yes, the sequel to Kate is coming along eventually, but I don't want to put it up until I have a plot for it, which as of right now is being rather elusive. Stupid plots. Anyway, review please!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry to those of you who were expecting this Friday. Our science teacher decided that we need to get through three chapters before Spring Break next week, so I was busy with all the homework that implies, and with it being so close to Easter, I was busy there too. I guess life is just catching up to me… and my muse was being uncooperative. Due to the number of story alerts and such that I got, I'm going to make this longer than the two/three chapters it was originally going to be. Anyway, on to the fic!**

_**Not mine, don't own, except for Sorivelli.**_

_One week earlier(and remains this way-well, days go by etc.- until otherwise stated, be warned that it might take a couple chapters before this gets back to the 'present')..._

Neal woke up to bright sunlight streaming through the various windows and doors in his room. He smiled to himself and rolled over, prepared to start his Saturday by sleeping in. Until someone started pounding on his door.

"Caffrey, get over here and answer the damn door!" Peter yelled. "I can't stand here all day!"

Neal winced and climbed out of bed. He opened the door just enough to see Peter's glare and then decided not to irritate his partner anymore than he already was. He allowed the door to swing wide open and stepped out of the way just in time to avoid being trampled by a very irate Peter Burke.

"Where were you?" Peter snapped. "What happened to your phone? You realize I've been trying to contact you- or at least get you out of bed- for over a half hour!"

Neal glanced over at his table where his phone was sitting in plain sight. Running a hand through his hair he gave Peter a sheepish grin. "Sorry, my phone battery died. I'm kind of a deep sleeper…"

Peter rolled his eyes. "Sure you are. Meet me out front in ten."

And without another word, let alone one explaining why he was bothering Neal on a Saturday, he left.

…

Neal dressed as quickly as he could after ruefully admitting to himself that there was no way Peter would give him time for a shower. He brushed his hair down as well as he could and then left, phone and charger in hand.

The drive to the office was filled with a stony silence that Neal didn't dare break, especially considering Peter's driving was considerably more erratic than usual. When they pulled up in front of the building and the two men got out, Neal let Peter move on ahead.

When he finally reached the building and floor he wanted, Neal moved over to Diana and Jones.

Jones was sitting at his desk, he feet propped up as he flipped through a folder, while Diana sat on the edge of the desk in question, another folder sitting where she could easily see it. As Neal approached she shook her head and stabbed a finger at the folder.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, casually stuffing his hands in his pockets. "Am I the only one who isn't cranky today?"

Jones shrugged. "Depends on who you ask. Some of us enjoy having our Saturdays off."

Diana brushed her hair behind her shoulder. "Some of us don't like being around a pissed-off Peter."

Neal nodded. "Yeah, I noticed he was a little irritable. What's up?"

Jones flipped the folder shut and passed it to him. "That's what's up. We got the Sorivelli case."

Neal fought to keep his expression neutral. He forced himself to nonchalantly flip through the various pages while he was inwardly panicking. Anything to do with Sorivelli didn't belong in the White Collar Crimes Division. Organized Crime, or Missing Persons would be a better fit.

He whistled through his teeth when he saw the list of suspected crimes tagged to the name. Neal was sure that Sorivelli hadn't done half of what was listed, but he would gladly let it be all tacked onto his reputation.

Neal looked up and raised his eyebrows. "I can see why Peter's irritated. Why are we getting this on a Saturday again?"

Diana shrugged. "If we knew, we probably would have found some way to get out of it. I just know that I got a call from Hughes this morning telling us to get over here and start working on this case."

Jones jumped slightly and pointed to himself, his eyes fixed on a point somewhere just over Diana's shoulder. Neal turned around to see Hughes nod and point again.

Jones stood up. "Looks like we're about to find out what's so special about this case that we have to come in on a Saturday."

Diana slipped off the desk and rolled her eyes. "Whatever it is, it had better be good."

_Oh, I'm sure it is_, Neal thought to himself. _Knowing Sorivelli we'll be lucky if any of us get out of this alive._

**Okay, so let me know what you think!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Sorry for the delay in updating; I've been sidetracked and playing various video games. Anyway, many thanks to MaraudingSnitch1314** **for her review that reminded me that I haven't touched this file in forever. Without further ado, on to the next chapter!**

_**I didn't own WC for the past two chapters, I still don't own it. **_

Neal searched his brain for a way to convince Peter, or even Hughes if he had to, that this case wasn't good. For the second time in his life Neal couldn't come up with a plan before he reached the top of a set of stairs. Or the bottom as the case may be.

_Neal walked down the familiar stairs, taking his time with what could generously be described as a leisurely pace. A less generous person would compare his obvious reluctance at reaching the first floor to a man going to death row. For Neal it was essentially the same._

_His mind raced for ways he could talk his way out of the situation. He could feel the cold metal of the ancient key digging into his leg through his pocket, or maybe he was just imagining that. But either way, he had still had no plan and he was fast approaching the ground floor._

_He mentally ticked off the usual, airtight responses: He was with friends wouldn't work; it really didn't apply. He couldn't just say he was curious; he knew the contents that he was allowed to see of that box well enough. He couldn't blame it on chance, an opportune moment and a good dose of curiosity; his mother wasn't exactly careless. He couldn't say that the box just popped open or something; she would see through that immediately. He couldn't have mistaken the key for another; assuming that did happen, it would be like confusing an elephant with a gnat. _

_He reached the bottom step, and then firmly planted both feet. She wouldn't know if he waited just a bit longer…_

"_NEAL!"_

_Okay, maybe she would. And damn it, he didn't have a plan yet. _

_He forced his feet to move down onto the ground floor and over to the door of the living room…_

Neal shook his head to clear it of the dusty memories and walked into the glass-walled office. Peter rolled his eyes and grumbled about something for a minute before being silenced by a stern look from Hughes.

Peter rose to his feet. "Can I go now?" he asked impatiently. "I have paperwork to be doing."

Hughes pointed at the door. "Go ahead," he sighed, his tone more than a little resigned. After Peter had left, he turned to Neal, Jones, and Diana. With a sweeping motion he indicated that they should sit. When they seemed fairly comfortable he said, "Okay, Caffrey, what do you know about Sorivelli?"

Neal took a deep breath and started talking, leaving out those parts that were entangled in his own history. Mentioning some of those might get a little out of hand.

…

When Hughes dismissed them, Neal jumped out of his seat, almost before the words were out of his boss's mouth.

Hughes raised his eyebrows.

"I'm going to go get Peter some coffee," Neal said smoothly, the words barely registering in his brain before he said them.

Hughes nodded. "Maybe that'll put him in a better mood."

Neal grinned. "You know how he likes his Italian Roast. Do you want me to get you some too?"

Hughes shook his head. "No thanks. I'm good right now." he motioned vaguely to a steaming cup on the table in front of him. "Just hurry, and don't go out of your radius."

Neal automatically made a face at the reminder and slipped out of the room. Hughes hadn't seen the way his hands were shaking; Neal was certain of that. He forced himself to keep an unhurried pace and smile and wave at the various people he passed by.

It was only when he was out of the building that he allowed the familiar facade to drop. No one took a second glance at him as he searched for a way to get out of the case.

He bought the coffee and took his time getting back to the building. However, he was still drawing a blank on any helpful ideas by the time he was standing in front of the federal building.

He turned around before anyone noticed where he was heading and pulled out his phone.

"Yes?" Moz asked after picking up on the third ring.

"We got a Sorivelli case. Any idea on how to convince Peter to give it back to Organized Crime?"

"Hey, calm down," Moz soothed, obviously catching how Neal's voice steadily rose. "We'll think of something. Just get through the day, and I'll meet you at your place when you get home. I'm heading over there right now. Do you want me to arrange for protection for June?"

"Yeah. I think that would be best. Could you keep an eye on El too?"

"That was my plan. Mrs. Suit doesn't know anything about this yet, does she?"

Neal sighed. "Not really, and I'm not sure Peter is going to want us to tell her."

"I'll figure something out," Moz promised. "See you when the Suit sends you home."

Neal took a few deep breaths to compose himself as he walked back towards the building. By the time he reached Peter's office he was sure that no one would be able to tell how uneasy he was about taking this case.

Peter glanced up from the various papers strewn across his desk when Neal entered. He pointed at a chair in front of his desk and went back to the papers.

After a few minutes of silence (other than the sounds of paper being carelessly moved and thrown around) Neal firmly set the cup of coffee right under Peter's nose.

Peter grabbed it immediately and took a huge gulp, swallowing quickly as the hot liquid burned his mouth. His expression softened slightly and Neal treated it as a smile; it was as close as he was going to get at the moment.

"What's up?" Neal asked.

Peter scowled. "El and I had plans. A lunch reservation at a fancy restaurant, and then various other things throughout the day. We haven't been spending a whole lot of time together, and a grateful client recently gave her a rather large check."

Neal nodded. "I see. This will just irritate you more, but I don't think we should take this case."

Peter passed a hand in front of his eyes. "And why shouldn't we?"

Neal swallowed. "I know Sorivelli, and his case doesn't belong with us. It should go right back to organized crime."

Peter shrugged. "We've solved cases for organized crime before. What's so different about this one?"

Neal shook his head. "Peter, if we take this case Sorivelli will kill everyone close to us and then... well, they'll never find the bodies."

Peter frowned. "Neal, how do you know Sorivelli? He doesn't sound like someone you'd know."

Neal opened his mouth and closed it several times. Peter shook his head. "Caffrey, just go get some mortgage fraud cases done or something. We'll come back to this case later. I'm not in the mood to deal with you."

Neal stood up. So that was a no. Peter was going to take the case whether his consultant liked it or not.

"You're going to regret taking this case," he warned over his shoulder before slipping out the door.

He made his way over to his desk to find his phone vibrating. He smiled to himself as he picked up; Moz must have found something to keep Peter from taking the case already.

"What do you have?" he asked as he picked up.

"Hey son, how have you been? Haven't heard from you in a while. What are you and the FBI up to? They aren't looking into me, are they?"

Neal swore. "Sorivelli."

**As usual, review please? And hopefully now that a friend is bribing me to get this finished I will be able to update more freqently(no promises though, especially since I'm working backwards)**


	4. Chapter 4

"That isn't any way to address your father," Sorivelli continued pleasantly. "Tell me, do you enjoy working for the feds?"

"You aren't my father," Neal snapped. "My father is dead, as is my mother. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

"It's a little early in our reunion to start accusing me of murder, isn't it? After all, the Feds did write that off as a horrible accident until they realized you were missing. They were still looking for one Neal Sorivelli, the last time I checked."

"My name was _never_ Sorivelli," Neal growled. "I always was, and always will be, a Caffrey."

Sorivelli tsked. "No, no son. You know as well as I do what name is written on your birth certificate. It's definitely not Caffrey."

Neal ground his teeth and fought to keep his voice reasonable. "It's not Sorivelli either, and that's what counts to me."

"Are you sure about that?" Sorivelli asked, his voice taking on a bored tone. "But I think that's enough of the idle chat. What are the Feds currently working on?"

"What do you want, Sorivelli?" Neal snapped. "You walked out of my life after killing my mom, and whenever you showed up after that bad things happened. People I cared about got hurt. Just get to what you want."

Sorivelli chuckled, though the sound was humorless. "You always were a bright boy, Neal. You know as well as anyone that I get what I want and those who get in my way get-"

"What the hell do you want?" Neal interrupted.

Sorivelli's tone turned icy. "I thought you learned long ago to humor me, boy."

"I'm not a boy anymore, no more than I'm still under your thumb. Cut to the chase already!"

"How naive. You must still be a boy then, maybe of six years old like when I met you, hmm? Because you've wandered back under my thumb. Now tell me, what are your handlers working on?"

"They aren't my handlers," Neal snarled. "And yeah, maybe we did get your case. And yeah, we're going to see your smug face after you're behind bars. There is no way we're going to drop this case. Not after what you've put me through."

"Get the Feds off my back," Sorivelli returned coldly. "And then, maybe we'll be able to negotiate the certain, ah, return of one of them."

Neal paled. "What? Who did you kill?"

"Not kill," Sorivelli corrected. "_Yet_, that is. Drop the case and get them to forget they ever had it, and then we can talk."

Neal's threats and protests fell on the deaf ears of the phone line. Sorivelli had already hung up.

Neal knew they didn't have much time before Sorivelli got impatient. His eyes desperately roamed the room. Sorivelli would strike close to home. Peter was there, Jones was at his desk, Hughes was watching the proceedings... but Diana was nowhere to be found.

Neal ran to the stairs, ignoring the stares he attracted. He nimbly climbed them, two steps at a time. He threw Peter's door open and burst into the room. "Peter, call Diana!"

Peter looked up from the papers still spread in front of him. "What?"

"Just do it!" Neal snapped. "Call her, or give me her number and I will!"

Peter reached for his phone. "Neal..."

"Just do it!" Neal repeated.

Peter hit a button; obviously, he had her on speed dial. Neal counted the seconds. One ring... two...

"Yeah, it's me. Neal told me to call you. You're heading home? No, that's not necessary. You don't need to come back here." Peter gave Neal a rather pointed look. He nodded and said, "Okay, I'll see you Monday- Diana?" His eyes widened and he set the phone down on his desk, hitting the speaker button.

Neal heard the sounds of a scuffle, and both men winced as a gun went off. Then:

"Shit, boss, did you know that she was on the phone?" Neal's heart missed a beat as Sorivelli answered, "No, but that's fine." There was a rustle on the other end and then Sorivelli continued, "Neal, I warned you. You know that I'm a man who follows through on my threats. Get the Feds off my back, and you can have your friend back."

The line went dead and Peter started swearing.

"Caffrey, explain," he said tersely, getting up to pace the room after pointing to a chair.

Neal sat. "That was Sorivelli," he said softly, looking at his hands. "He kidnapped Diana, and you heard what he said." Neal risked a glance at Peter; the agent was obviously rather pissed off. "We have to drop the case, or she's as good as dead."

Peter shook his head. "No. I'm not going to drop this case just because that bastard kidnapped one of my agents. We're going to get her back, and then we're going to catch him."

Neal rose to his feet. "Peter, you don't understand! You can't do anything but do what he wants; otherwise he'll kill Diana without a second thought and then go after El!"

Peter gave him a poisonous glare. "How do you know this?" he asked his voice deceptively calm.

Neal started tugging at the hem of his jacket. "It's kind of a long story. We don't have time."

"Damn it, Caffrey, Sorivelli just kidnapped one of my agents and you won't tell me why because it's 'kind of a long story'? Let's put it this way: tell me the kind of long story or I send you back to prison!"

Neal sighed. "I'll give you the condensed version. My mom was, er, involved with him for several years."

Peter frowned. "How did it end?"

"He killed her when I was fifteen," he whispered. "He killed her, then left town and framed me for the murder. I ended up leaving and... The next couple of years were interesting. Let's just say that Sorivelli has a knack for showing up when I'm finally doing something right." He gave his jacket a violent jerk. "And when he shows up, he always kills someone close to me."

Peter frowned, intrigued by the little bit of information from Neal's past, the past that the younger man usually kept so well hidden. This was all new to him, as he hadn't been able to find anything on the con before his eighteenth birthday.

The silence stretched between them for several minutes. Peter opened and then closed his mouth several times as if searching for something to say. Neal continued to fiddle with the hem of his jacket. Both men jumped when Neal's phone went off.

Neal answered it after checking the caller ID. "Moz?"

"Who else would it be?"

Neal shook his head. "I'll explain later. Hang on." He stood up and slipped out of the room, ignoring Peter's scowl that followed him out. When he was safely out of earshot of the agent he said, "Sorivelli made his move."

"So soon?" Moz sounded surprised, making Neal roll his eyes.

"Yeah. He has Diana, and he said he would kill her if we don't drop the case."

There was a pause. "Well, I don't know what you could do. If you drop the case..."

"He'll kill her anyway, and then Peter would kill me a couple times. Slowly." Neal glanced behind him. Through the glass of the office walls he could see Peter, and the agent looked about ready to rip his throat out regardless of where Diana was."

"Hmm... You have an interesting dilemma, my friend. Of course, you could always just run. It'd get Sorivelli away."

Neal shook his head again. "No. I'm not going to leave unless it's our last option. Do you think you could...?"

"I'll ask around. Someone's bound to have seen what happened and where she went. I'll call you back when I find out."

Neal risked another glance at Peter and started wondering if he could legitimately turn tail and run while claiming insanity. Under the circumstances, maybe... "Thanks, Moz. Hopefully Peter doesn't kill me before you can call back."

"Good luck with the Suit. I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks," Neal repeated.

"I want this bastard in jail as much as you do," Moz assured him before hanging up.

Neal stared at his phone remorsefully, wondering who he could call to postpone going back to face an extremely irate Peter Burke. He ruefully decided that the answer to making another phone call in general would be a no- the more time he gave Peter to glare at him, the more cranky the agent was going to get.

Neal slowly spun around and walked back to the glass walled office. He threw a curious glance at the clock and scowled when it only said twelve. He couldn't find a way to get out of facing Peter.

_He shuffled into the living room, the heavy key in his pocket making him drag his feet. If he was lucky, she wouldn't make him empty his pockets. If she did… well, maybe Moz would clean out his room before she could decide to kill him again._

_Neal slowly raised his eyes. His breath caught in his throat. His mother was sitting on the couch, her face grim. That wasn't what made him pause. The thing that was out of order in this scenario was the man sitting next to her. He had oily black hair that was obviously the result of a horrible dye job. Mousy roots showed for about two inches, and Neal realized that this man obviously hadn't had a haircut for a while, and his hair hung just short enough that he couldn't brush it behind his ears of pull it back. His eyes were black, and his skin unnaturally pale. _

"_Neal," His mom said softly, "This is my new boyfriend, Ewan Sorivelli."_

_Neal's eyes widened. Was she crazy? He forced a gracious smile onto his face and extended a hand. "Hello."_

_Sorivelli gave an evil smile. "Nice to meet you. I can't help_ _but wonder how long we'll be seeing each other."_

_Neal forced a shudder back. "I'm sure we'll all be perfectly happy with the arrangements."_

_Neal nodded to his mother and caught a flash of panic in her eyes. He couldn't be sure though, because it was gone in less than a heartbeat. He turned and walked out of the room, the key still weighty in his pocket. He had no clue what his mom saw in that creep but he knew better than to question…_

Peter kept him discussing possibilities as to where Diana could be until well into the evening. When Peter finally let him get away he left the building as fast as he possibly could. The air was comfortable but he forced himself to hurry along until he could get a cab to June's.

He paid the driver and got out. He was so caught up in his thoughts about how he could get Diana back that he didn't notice the cars until he was roughly stopped at the door. "You can't go in here," the man said.

Neal took in the familiar uniform of the NYPD and started to reach for the fake FBI badge he still had(a thing like that you just didn't throw away- who knows when you'll need to impersonate one Peter Burke again?) when June called, "Let him in."

The man stepped away with a certain amount of reluctance and Neal slipped through the door.

The house, usually so neat, was trashed. Furniture was upended and vases broken on the floor. Paintings had been pulled from the walls. Neal's eyes widened as he took in the amount of damage.

When he saw June he shook his head. "June, I'm so sorry, this is all my fault..."

She lightly rested a hand on his shoulder. "Neal dear, there's no way this is your fault." She gave a little laugh. "Besides, this can all be fixed. Nothing of any value was broken." She winked. "The secret is to not leave the valuable things out where a thief can get at them."

Neal almost laughed. "Until you let one of them live with you."

She shrugged. "Neal, this isn't the worst part. This is nothing compared to your room."

Neal winced. "Let me see." He let her lead the way up the stairs.

When he stepped into his room, it didn't seem so bad at first. It was a sea of uniforms, sure, but...

Then he saw everything else. Everything was beyond repair, to put it nicely. The bed was slashed open, the couch hacked apart. Books lay scattered around the room, looking like they had been hosed down. Bookshelves were smashed and shards of glass were everywhere. And that was just the tip of the iceberg.

Neal turned away. "June, I'm sorry this happened. Its connected to a case we got today, I'm sure of it. I can't stay here anymore. It'll put you at too much risk."

June laughed. "Nonsense. Like I said, nothing of value was broken down there. We can fix it all. We'll sort through this mess and get your things straightened up. Was there anything valuable in here that you're worried about?"

Neal looked around. There were some first edition signed books and various other things, but the items he couldn't live without had been hidden in other buildings. He slowly shook his head.

"No, there wasn't anything in here that I couldn't live without. June, I really have to go. I seriously can't stay here anymore. It puts you in danger. They know where you live! I'll find somewhere else to stay."

She shook her head, something in her eyes hardening. "Neal, you are perfectly fine where you're at. I have more than one guest room. It isn't like I haven't gone through this before. Byron had a knack for irritating people, and they tended to get revenge in one way or the other. Now come."

Neal didn't have the energy needed to argue so he followed as she led him to another room, this one painted a soft teal. She pointed to the bed. "Get some sleep. We'll figure out what to do tomorrow. Luckily your clothes were in the wash when this happened, so I don't think you lost anything there."

Neal shrugged. "Well, I didn't lose any of my favorites."

"Moz was here earlier, and he left with what I'm fairly certain was all of your shirts that weren't being washed."

Neal felt his mouth curve into a grin despite everything. "He probably did. It was wise of him to take precautions like that."

June nodded. "Get some sleep. I'll have your clothes that remain here brought up."

"Thanks June. I'm sorry this happened."

"That's enough dear," she kindly reprimanded. "Bed, now."

Neal smiled to himself as she turned and walked out the door.

While lying in bed he decided that if Peter ever wanted him to come to work on a Saturday again he would be four states away before the hour was up.

Needless to say, this was not turning out to be one of his better weekends.

**Sorry if there's anything screwy in this chapter- things just aren't working for me involving technology this week. I'm going to warn that updates might get a little sketchy from here on out b/c my computer is experiencing massive technological issues and freezing whenever it decides it doesn't like whatever I'm doing. So yeah. Review please! )**** Also, if anyone knows some programs or methods to help with computer performance, please, do let me know. Otherwise I might end up yelling myself hoarse at this machine.**


	5. Chapter 5

**I'm not going to insult you, dear readers, with an apology. Since I last updated (what, almost a year ago?) I went through some crappy months, spent some time with depression, and eventually recovered. I reread this and decided it was hopeless and almost deleted it. I finally admitted it was on hiatus, possibly for the rest of its pitiful existence, and subsequently tried to rewrite it. I still find it corny in places, and I still don't like it – or rather, the way I wrote it - but there's nothing I'm willing to do about that. I'm going to suck it up and finish it. I have a rewrite started, and maybe I'll post that in place of this after I finish. I have a decent start on the rewrite, and three to four chapters left of this, most of which is already written. Sad that I couldn't muddle through, isn't it?**

**I hope my writing has improved since then, but don't get your hopes up. Even if it has, this piece probably won't reflect that.**

_**Still don't own, even though I wish I did. :)**_

Neal woke with a start and bolted upright. The first thing his brain registered was that the room he had apparently spent the night in didn't seem familiar. It most certainly was _not_ his room. The odds seemed to smirk at him, and his sleep-muddled mind jumped to the conclusion that Sorivelli had kidnapped him.

After a few minutes, the more logical part of his brain woke up and last night started to come back to him. His heart stopped trying to leap out of his chest, and he lay back down. Neal wasn't normally one to stay in bed when one of his friends – because if he was entirely honest with himself, Diana _was_ a friend – was missing and in the hands of an insane psychopath, but he just didn't feel ready to face the day.

He focused on breathing and promised himself that he would get out of bed just as soon as his heart rate slowed to normal. While he waited, he tried to make a calming list of things to do today. Face Peter, admit he'd screwed up, try to find Diana, hopefully rescue Diana, probably talk to Sorivelli on the phone, listen to Diana being tortured… Okay, that list wasn't calming. Screw the list, then. Neal needed to paint.

Silently praying that June had a spare canvas and paints (he assumed that his had been destroyed when Sorivelli's men ransacked his apartment), Neal rolled out of bed. He padded across the spacious room and pulled the door open, only to reel backwards as he came face to face with Mozzie.

"Moz!" Neal exclaimed, breathing heavily. He reached for the wall and leaned against it, realizing that Sorivelli had accomplished at least half of his mission. Neal Caffrey was a nervous wreck. There was no denying that.

"I think I might know where the Lady Suit is," Mozzie replied, cutting right to the chase as he straightened his slightly awry glasses.

Neal frowned, trying to think clearly. The Lady Suit was Diana, Diana was kidnapped by Sorivelli, Diana needed to be found… oh. "Have you told Peter or whoever is controlling this search?" Neal glanced around the room and added, "And do you happen to know where my clothes are?"

"June rescued the suits and moved them somewhere downstairs. You'd have to ask her." Mozzie shrugged, trying to make everything seem more ordinary than it was. "The things I took are safe. Do you want them back?"

Neal passed a hand in front of his face wearily. "I don't know anymore, Moz. How could this have happened?"

Mozzie shook his head. "There wasn't a reason for this, Neal. Sorivelli doesn't reason this stuff out, and you know that. He's here to make your life hell."

"Thanks for the reassurance, Moz." Neal offered his friend a wan smile. "Let's go downstairs and talk about Diana."

An hour later, Peter found Neal and Mozzie sitting in a storage closet off one of the main halls. Mozzie perched on a hard folding chair, and Caffrey looked like he had just rolled out of bed, wearing boxers and a white t-shirt, his face smeared with paint and hair messy. Light streamed in through a decent sized window, and boxes were neatly stacked along the walls. Assorted junk haphazardly piled on shelves seemed ready to topple at the slightest breeze, but both criminals looked comfortable enough in the room.

"What do you have to say that's so important you couldn't tell me over the phone?" Peter asked finally after lurking in the doorway for a long moment.

Neal and Mozzie jumped. They had lapsed into silence while they waited for Peter, Mozzie apparently lost in thought and Neal focused on the painting he was busy reproducing.

Mozzie was the first to reclaim his voice. "Suit!"

Neal glanced towards Peter. "Sit down, Peter. We're probably going to be in here for awhile."

His consultant's resigned tone worried Peter, but the agent stepped into the room and settled onto a largish cardboard box that was labeled 'books.' "I have a feeling I'm not going to like what I hear."

Neal gave him another sideways glance. Peter wasn't yelling, and he seemed more exhausted than angry. They were all drained of emotion after a restless night of worry. "Probably not," he finally agreed.

"I might know where the Lady Suit is," Mozzie said after a pause.

Peter leaped to his feet. "What? And you couldn't tell me this over the phone! We have to go to the bureau, tell missing persons… We need to bring her home!"

"No, Peter." Neal whispered it, trying to ignore the imperfect spot where his brush had created a jagged line of pale pink when he jumped from Peter's outburst. "We can't tell them. If the bureau sends anyone out, she's as good as dead. Sorivelli will kill her without blinking an eye."

The anger from last night was back in full force. "Neal, you can't just expect me to sit back and watch one of my people die!"

"No, Suit," Mozzie said softly. "That's why we're telling you what we know and warning you that you can't tell the other Suits."

"I think we can get her back," Neal added, determinedly painting over the pink streak. "The three of us, or maybe the four of us if you include Jones."

"I… Neal… Stupid… No!" Peter started pacing angrily, one hand shadowing his face. "Neal!"

Neal flinched. "Peter, it's the only way."

Peter turned and studied the various knickknacks on the nearest shelf, and then spun and stalked towards Neal. He glared at the painting that was beginning to take shape under Neal's skilful hands, and muttered, "You'd better sign that."

Neal nodded earnestly. "Right there, in the upper right hand corner." With the back end of the brush, he pointed to a tiny set of initials hidden in the shade-dappled foliage of the tree.

Peter humphed after squinting at the spot. "That looks more like the way you'd sign it if you were forging it."

"I'm using the wrong paints for it to be a good forgery," Neal said simply.

The agent didn't comment. Even with inferior, modern paints, Neal's work was good enough to fool any number of professionals. You had to be looking for the initials to see them, and the rendition of Monet's Water Lily Pond would only need some time in an oven to make it look exactly like the original once Neal was done. Still, he knew this was Neal's way of coping.

"Okay, count me in." Peter sighed and stomped back to the box, seating himself reluctantly.

Mozzie took a breath and opened his mouth, the first word on the tip of his tongue, when Peter's phone went off. Peter swore and fumbled with the device, eventually managing to get it out of his pocket and against his ear.

"Burke," he said shortly.

Neal and Mozzie watched Peter carefully, straining to hear what was said on the other end of the line. The blood drained from Peter's face, and he said, "Be right there, Jones."

He ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket. "Sorivelli sent in the first tape. You two are coming with me."

"Tape?" Neal blanched. "I… Peter, he sent a _tape?_"

"Yes, Caffrey. A tape. Both of you are coming with me, and you're going to tell me where you think Diana is on the way over."

A tape could never be a good sign. Sorivelli had broken the pattern, and the last time that happened… Well, Neal didn't want to consider that.


	6. Chapter 6

Even from a floor below, Neal could see the grim faces and tense shoulders. So many agents were crammed into the glass walled office, and he couldn't help but think that they made themselves a perfect target. If Sorivelli sent someone to kill as many people as possible, he would target the bureau, and the twenty-first floor would be the first person his man would go. That wasn't Sorivelli's style, but if he had sent a torture tape, things had already turned unpredictable.

Neal and Peter climbed the stairs quickly, side by side. Peter threw open the door and shoved Neal inside. Before the door managed to swing shut, Peter was already demanding to see the tape, to know what had happened to his agent.

Neal sat down in one of the open chairs near the end of the table. No one seemed to notice his clothes, or lack thereof. A usually mortifying situation (well, at least Peter had let him put pants on) paled in comparison to the horror Diana currently lived in. Solemnly, someone Neal didn't recognize – presumably one of the agents from Missing Persons – hit the play button.

The video started out innocently enough, if one could consider Diana bound and gagged, tied to a chair and slumped slightly forward 'innocent.' Her eyes were closed and dried blood covered one side of her face. She looked like she was unconscious, but after a few seconds she lifted her head and glared defiantly at the camera.

Sorivelli stepped into view. A blank white mask obscured his face, but Neal recognized the arrogant stride and the large knife he held in one hand. "Neal, you seem to have forgotten why you need to listen to me the first time I ask."

Neal gripped the arms of the chair, his knuckles white.

"I think we should cut right to the chase: I know everything about you, and I know that your Feds won't like one of their own to be cut up. Do you believe me, Neal, when I say I'm dangerous? Do you remember what I did to your dear deceased mother, may she rest in peace?"

Neal knew what was coming next, but he couldn't look away. Sorivelli's words were straight from the con's worst nightmares.

The knife flashed in the dim light as Sorivelli raised it dramatically. He drew it across Diana's arm, slowly and decisively. Blood welled up in the cut, and Neal was sure that Sorivelli's mouth had twisted into a sadistic smirk behind the mask.

The knife came down again and again, sometimes stabbing and sometimes slicing. Neal tried to remember to breathe, but the air caught in his throat. He needed to move, to look away, but his eyes remained glued to the screen.

"Stop." The word was quiet but firm, Peter's voice shaking with barely restrained emotion. His hand rested on Neal's shoulder, applying a reassuring amount of pressure. The video paused and the screen flickered off.

"I – I need to leave…" Neal pushed himself out of the chair and fled the room, lightly descending the stairs and easily navigating the twists and turns of the building. He turned into the first restroom he came to and leaned against the sink, trying to keep the contents of his stomach down. His heart pounded in his chest as if it were trying to escape.

When he could finally bring himself to look up, his reflection stared back, the blood drained from the familiar face. His skin still had a green tint, but his ragged breaths were beginning to even out and he didn't feel quite as nauseated.

Neal saw the door open in the mirror and started to spin around, only to find Peter entering the room. The consultant turned back to the sink and splashed water on his face, trying to convince himself it was okay. Neal might have been good at lying to other people, but he had never managed to convince himself of a lie in such a short amount of time, and this wasn't any different. He knew that Diana would be dead by the next morning if he couldn't convince the bureau to back off.

"Neal…" Peter started.

Neal kept his eyes firmly fixed on his hands, willing them to stop trembling like a stubborn leaf in winter winds. After swallowing, he managed a halfway decent, "Peter."

"You knew what was going to be on that tape, didn't you? You knew what he did to her, and that we couldn't stop it." The words were almost unbelieving, but Neal suspected that nothing would surprise Peter when it came to some of the more unsavory aspects of Neal's past.

"She's still alive," Neal whispered. "He's giving me time to get the FBI to back off."

"We can't—"

"Do you want her back?" The words came out harsher than Neal intended, and he half turned to Peter, trying to judge his partner's reaction.

"Neal, there has to be another way. We can get her back."

"Yes, Peter. If they call off the investigation, if I give myself up to Sorivelli…" _If I give up on all hope, and everything for me here,_ Neal finished in his head.

"You wouldn't!"

"To get Diana back, I would." Neal glanced up at the mirror again. It was a better alternative to meeting Peter's disapproving glare. Peter had that 'I'm not going to let you do that' look in everything from the way his jaw was set to the concern that managed to shine through the death glare.

"You try and I'll cuff you to me until we catch this bastard."

Neal tried to give Peter a flippant grin, but it came out more like a grimace. "Kinky."

"Don't, Caffrey," the agent warned. "You know it would be for your own good."

"But it would kill Diana, literally." Neal shook his head.

"We'll get her back and keep you safe," Peter swore. "I promise. And until then, you're going to help us catch Sorivelli."

Neal laughed bitterly, the sound depressed and slightly maniacal. "Yeah, sure. Because it's not like I haven't tried to get him out of my life before now."

"You didn't have FBI resources then," Peter insisted stubbornly. "We can catch him, just like every other petty criminal."

Neal didn't bother to correct Peter. Sorivelli was anything but petty, and they both knew it. A strained silence stretched between them. Overhead, a dying fluorescent light flickered.

"They really need to fix that light," Neal said softly.

"Don't change the subject. We're going to catch him and get Diana back."

Neal turned away from the mirror and locked eyes with Peter. "You keep on believing that, and maybe you'll get through the next couple days."

Without another word he shoved past his friend and started towards the stairs.

**Kind of short chapter, and I might be drawing this out unnecessarily, but this needs to be finished. I'm not sure how many chapters are left, but it's almost certainly more than the three to four I predicted earlier. Hopefully if I update frequently this won't die again. :) Also, thanks for putting this on story alert and favoriting it. It's good to know that you enjoy it. :)**


	7. Chapter 7

Neal burst out of the building and quickly crossed the parking lot. He slid into the driver's seat of Peter's Taurus and turned to Mozzie.

"I'm going to get her back. I can't let the FBI go after Sorivelli."

"Let me drive," Mozzie said simply.

Neal frowned but didn't argue. Mozzie hated New York traffic. They switched seats, and by the time they were out of the parking lot, Neal was on his phone.

Sorivelli picked up on the second ring. "Son! How good to hear from you. I trust your life is going well. Did you enjoy the delightful video I sent you?"

His cheerful demeanor set Neal's teeth on edge. "The FBI is no longer pursuing your case. They don't know it yet, but they're done with their investigation."

"Neal, Neal, Neal. Always so businesslike, cutting right to what you want to say. You shouldn't do that; you know it frustrates me. If I get frustrated, your friend might not make it out of here alive." Neal could hear the smirk in Sorivelli's voice. He had everyone right where he wanted them, and now he could play with them like a cat with a mouse.

Forcing a pleasantness into his voice that Neal didn't feel, he said, "I'm doing great, father dear. I always enjoy seeing my friends cut up. It's my favorite form of punishment. Psychological things will probably stay with me much longer than if, say, you sent someone to chop and arm or a leg off."

"Exactly! I'm glad you feel that way."

Neal dug his nails into his leg, but he didn't try to respond. He knew what Sorivelli was doing and he knew what would happen if he couldn't keep his temper and at least pretend to be civil.

A silence stretched between them, and then Sorivelli suddenly changed tracks. "Caffrey, the deal was that you get the feds away from me. It sounds like you haven't managed that quite yet."

"I'm working on it," Neal protested through clenched teeth. "Give me a little bit of time. They know what you can do and they know that they need to back off. Let Diana go, and I promise they'll give up the case."

"If I let Diana go, you won't be interested in our little game," Sorivelli said slowly, the words almost sad. "Unless, of course, I give her up and take your… Oh, what do you call him? Your partner? Yes, if I give up my current plaything, I'll have to find another. Either let me keep her or give me Peter."

With a satisfied click the call ended.

Neal slowly lowered the phone and stared at it in disbelief. Sorivelli's use of first names made the threats that much more intimate. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place while the two moved ever closer together, ready to crush him.

"Well?" Mozzie asked.

"If he gives Diana up, he's going to take Peter instead." Neal shook his head. "I can't let that happen."

"That's why we're going where we are," Mozzie replied.

"Thanks, Moz." Neal shoved his phone back in his pocket and stared out the window. The city looked slightly different, as if it knew the evil that roamed its streets and resented Neal for being the catalyst that unleashed this particular brand of evil.

The roads passed by, and Neal realized with a start that they were in the wrong part of the city. In fact, they were headed back towards June's house.

"Uh, Moz, where are we going?"

"You didn't think I was going to use the Suit's car, did you? He's probably tracking us as we speak."

"Oh." Neal relaxed a little. He was being paranoid, but he was almost beginning to understand why Mozzie said that paranoia is a skill.

Mozzie pulled up in front of June's house, expertly parallel parking. Before he had even completely stopped the car, he had the cuffs around Neal's wrists and secured to a handy bar on the inside of the car door.

"Moz!" Neal protested. "You can't do this!"

"If you think I'm going to let you walk right into Sorivelli's arms, you're mistaken. This is for your own good, Neal."

"And if _you_ think _I'm_ going to sit here while you try to rescue Diana, putting yourself at an unreasonable amount of risk, you're insane!" Neal retorted, pulling uselessly at the cuffs. "Where'd you get these, anyway?"

"Glove compartment. Apparently the Suit likes to be prepared." Mozzie shrugged and opened his door. "Good luck getting out. The child locks are on and I'll be sure to disable the carwhen I leave."

"You wouldn't!"

"To save your life I would."

The door slammed shut and Neal was left to curse whoever decided that it was a good idea to put child locks on the front passenger door.

….

Neal regretted putting his phone in his pocket, and he definitely didn't approve of the fact that he put it in his _left pants pocket_, of all places. Still, he had to do two things: get out of the cuffs and call Peter, in whichever order seemed the most appropriate.

He started to reach for the set of lock picks he usually had, but he remembered that – surprise, surprise – he didn't have said lock picks with him.

Neal sighed in frustration but refused to give up. Handcuffs weren't all that hard to pick, especially when one could see what they were doing. Any number of common household items could be used as a makeshift lock pick, if only he could find something.

The glove compartment would be useless, as Mozzie had gone through it. Unfortunately enough, Peter's usually clean car had recently been vacuumed. Neal would be hard pressed to find a spare bobby-pin lying around, as El didn't usually ride in the Taurus.

Neal's eyes roamed the front seat. Normally he could appreciate a clean vehicle, but this was almost sterile and entirely uncalled for. Couldn't Peter obey the common courtesy of leaving a spare paperclip around?

Halfheartedly, he tried to get his phone again. With the cuffs on, it would be nearly impossible. Decideing to give it one more try, he nudged the rug at his feet. The material inched backward, scrunching up farther along. Neal glimpsed something metallic and leaned forward eagerly, almost not daring to hope.

There sat the very end of a shiny paperclip…

… And it was even more out of reach than his phone.

Well then. It would be time for some inventive swearing just as soon as he managed to call Peter.

Ten uncomfortable minues later, Neal found himself stretched out across two seats, his phone pressed against his ear. It rang once, twice, bzzz, bzzz….

The door swung open and Neal found himself looking at a rather irate Peter Burke.

"Oh, so you think to call now?"

"I didn't have any lockpicks!" Neal protested, squirming on the seats. "Moz left me here."

Peter's expression softened a little, and the corners of his mouth twitched. "_Really_. Is there, by any chance, surveillance footage of this?"

Neal scowled. "It's kind of uncomfortable here. Would you _please_ stop gloating and get me out of this?"

"I thought you'd never met a lock you couldn't pick. The great Neal Caffrey, bested by a measly pair of handcuffs? No!"

"I can't very well pick it with my nails! Peter, Mozzie left me here because..." Neal stopped. If he said where Moz went, Peter would go, too.

Peter nodded. "Okay, Caffrey. I'll send June down to get you in about twenty minutes."

"Peter, you can't leave—" Neal started to do some inventive swearing in his head. Stupid, impulsive, couldn't realize that Peter would guess where Moz was...

Neal's protests were cut off my the slam of the door once again.

This day really wasn't working out for him.


	8. Chapter 8

Being locked up was killing him. Neal paced, and he painted. He read, and in a fit of desperation, tried to call Peter and Moz. He stepped in to watch the progress on his room, and found himself amazed at how fast it had improved. June smiled and told him that they owed Byron a favor and were the best in the business. Neal wasn't sure he wanted her to elaborate on the _type_ of business.

By five, Neal's mind seemed ready to dissolve into insanity. He paced some more, tried to paint, and was very tempted to start pulling out fistfuls of hair. His logical side presented the argument that it might take awhile to get Diana out safely, and either way, Sorivelli would have called to gloat if he captured one of Neal's friends. Still, this didn't stop the con man from turning in circles and trying unsuccessfully to read, paint, or do anything that didn't involve thinking about what might have happened to Moz and Peter.

At six thirty, Neal'd had enough. He grabbed some car keys, told June he was leaving, opened the door… and nearly ran into Mozzie.

"Where's Peter?" Neal asked, stopping dead.

Mozzie pushed past him. "Safe, for now."

"What do you mean? Why isn't he here?" Neal followed his friend in, but his fingers tightened around the keys in his hand and his eyes darted to the door. If he ran, Mozzie probably wouldn't catch him.

"He's in the hospital with the Lady Suit. No, Neal, don't argue with me. She's fine, really. Not dead or dying or anything like that. The Suit's waiting for her to get out of surgery." Mozzie pulled Neal further into the foyer and yanked the door shut. "We have orders to stay here."

"Since when do you take orders from the FBI?" Neal retorted, turning towards the door. "I'm going to see Peter."

Moz grabbed his arm. "No, Neal. I started to take orders from the Suit when our ideas for your best interests merged. We're staying here in relative safety, and he'll make sure the Lady Suit lives through the night. You can't go running after Sorivelli right now; he's too aggravated. We pulled her out from his grasp and he didn't even notice."

"I'll be safer with Peter. _June_ will be safer if I'm with Peter." Neal's hand strayed towards the doorknob. He knew that if he wanted to he could throw Moz off his arm and make a run for it, but something made him want to hear the arguments Mozzie undoubtedly had prepared.

"Shower, Neal. You smell horrible."

"Don't change the subject."

"I'm not, I'm telling you to go take a shower and maybe change your clothes."

"That's also known as changing the subject." Neal glanced around the room, unconsciously looking for other possible exits.

"No, it's not. Neal, I remember what happened last time Sorivelli came into your life. You look horrible, kind of like someone is trying to kill everyone close to you, which is fitting but inappropriate for the moment. Shower, change. Then we can talk about going to see Peter."

"You're going to leave as soon as I'm in the shower," Neal accused.

"No, Neal," Moz replied patiently. "I'm not."

"You're lying."

"And you're being petulant. Go shower, and I'll be here when you get out. Probably."

Neal exhaled and shook his head. "Fine."

Mozzie wisely chose not to comment as Neal stormed off, both men fully aware that Neal was being foolish.

…

Neal descended the stairs quickly. His shirt was left untucked, and he was pretty sure his socks didn't match but that didn't matter. Why he was all dressed up to go to a hospital, he didn't know. It might have had something to do with the need to pretend that everything was okay, even though it was falling apart. The best way he knew to pretend was to look the part, and the clothes pushed him a step closer to seeming normal, or at least collected enough to be dressing himself.

Mozzie raised one eyebrow, but didn't comment at the tie and lack of jacket. "Off to a hospital we go."

Neal grabbed his phone off the end table and slipped it into his pocket. "Moz, why'd I have to shower first?"

"You know that answer, Neal. You looked like you were falling apart, and if we're going to beat Sorivelli you have to at least appear confident."

Yeah, of course. Neal knew that, but it was nice to hear it confirmed.

The cab ride to the hospital seemed to go by at a crawl. Traffic jammed in inconvenient places, and the symphony of horns that rose into the evening grated against Neal's ears. Their own cabbie retained a stoic silence and didn't bother to pollute the air, apparently either having figured out that it wasn't necessary or forgotten that the common rule was to make as much noise as possible.

They had slowed to a stop in the third (or was it the fourth?) of these traffic jams – Neal was starting to think everyone had stayed late at work – when a phone chirped. Neal jumped, and Mozzie reached for the door.

The phone went off again, and Neal suddenly recognized his ringtone. He dug through his pockets and answered with trembling nerves, expecting a call from Peter that someone else had been kidnapped, or Diana was gone, or…

"H-Hello?" He was Neal Caffrey. Neal Caffrey did _not_ stammer when he answered the phone. He most certainly did not appear _nervous_ while pretending to be the picture perfect example of calm and collected.

"Ah, Neal. How is this fine evening treating you?" Sorivelli's pleasant voice held a biting edge of steel, and Neal felt chills run up and down his spine.

"Fine, thank you." Neal swallowed back fear and forced himself to sound relaxed. "I trust your evening is going as well as mine?"

"Oh, I'm sure it's been worse," Sorivelli still sounded cheerful, but the words held something sinister. Neal knew what he meant. Oh, did Neal know what he meant.

"After all, my delightful prisoner has been stolen from me," he continued. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you Neal?"

Neal fought to think of a response, but Sorivelli pressed on.

"You violated the rules of our little game, and as such, I've decided to stop playing by the rules. I'm going after everyone you care about, and just so you might have a head start, I'll let you know that the first person to die will be your beloved FBI agent. He'll be dead before tomorrow morning. You know what happens when you make me angry, Neal. You should have known better."

"Sorivelli-"

"Don't, Neal. I mean it. You stole my plaything, and now I'll set about really making your life hell. Have a nice night!"

The line went dead, and Neal thought his heart might have stopped beating.

…

Peter's face was the most reassuring thing Neal had ever seen. Mozzie slipped away as Neal walked towards Peter, trying to look calm despite the sterile white of the waiting room.

"Is she okay?" Neal asked, forcing himself not to cut right to the chase.

"She'll live, or so they say," Peter replied quietly. "She's still in surgery."

"Why?" Neal knew he probably didn't want to know the answer, but he couldn't help but ask.

"Someone shot her as we were pulling away. The glass shattered and… well." Peter shrugged, clearly not wanting to continue.

Neal settled into one of the plastic chairs on Peter's right side. "You won't be happy about this, but I think it's time I tell you the whole story about Sorivelli. He's promised to kill you before tomorrow morning."

"Why am I not surprised?" Peter shook his head in resignation. "First Diana, now me…"

Neal started talking. The only place to start was the beginning, and they had more than enough time.

…

_"Neal, I need you to leave."_

_"What?" He turned from his book and frowned at his mom. "Why would I need to leave?"_

_"Don't question me!" The rebuttal came out sharp and unexpected._

_He studied her familiar face. Laugh lines around her eyes like usual, but she seemed pale and drawn. Her hands shook, so she covered them by crossing her arms. Neal had never seen his mom this upset, and she had never before tried to hide something from him._

_"Okay," he replied calmly, trying to defuse a situation that seemed like it could get out of hand almost instantaneously. "Where do I need to go? And what should I bring?"_

_She turned to look around the room, and then threw her hands up in the air. "I don't know. You just need to leave… out of town should be good enough. I have a number, contacts. They'll keep you safe. You'll disappear. Perfect."_

_Neal wasn't sure if he should reply. Her words sounded as if they were directed at herself, but it was clear enough that he wouldn't be allowed to come back for awhile, if at all._

_"Neal, I'm serious. Pack. You need to leave; it's the only way to keep you safe."_

_He set the book down and grabbed an old backpack from before he dropped out of the school system. Wordlessly, he started shoving essentials into it, being careful not to make much noise. It was past midnight, and the urgency in his mom's voice worried him._

_Less than five minutes later, he had enough to sustain him for a day or two. The essentials were mostly books, as everything else could be bought or stolen at a later date._

_"Now what?" he asked._

_She put her arms out and he stepped obediently towards her. She drew him into her chest and kissed the top of his head, even though he was almost taller than her. "I love you. You'll always be my baby."_

_"Mom," he protested, trying to lighten the mood some._

_"Don't," she warned. "This will probably be the last night… No, never mind. I want you to remember me. I love you, okay?"_

_"Yeah." He nodded, and pulled away when her grip loosened._

_"I'll bring you some chips." Her voice sounded strange, and as she turned away Neal was sure he saw her brush tears away from her face._

_As soon as she was out of sight, he added a picture to his pack: The three of them: her, dad, and him, all perched on a wooden porch swing. She was laughing at some joke his dad had just told, and his face held a goofy, childish grin. In the picture, he was four, maybe five._

_She returned with a bag of chips. He added it to the bag and slung it over his shoulder. She also pressed a wad of cash and a paper into his hand._

_"Don't lose that phone number," she told him. "Catch the bus to any other town that you have money for, and then call that number. Say I sent you, and the people there will keep you safe. Be careful, Neal."_

_"I will," he promised solemnly. "I love you."_

_"Love you too," she replied, suddenly choked up. "I'll miss you. Be safe, and leave out the window. I don't want to see you here in five minutes."_

_Neal nodded and hugged her one more time. As soon as she was out of the room, he slipped out the window and onto the roof. With soft, expert steps, he crossed to the huge oak and climbed down. He hit the ground running, and kept going until he was at the end of the street._

_Then he paused. He looked left, right, prepared to cross, and then turned around to look at the house. As soon as his eyes locked on the building he had grown up in, a shot rang out. Gunshot. He knew that sound._

_Neal was torn between running for his life and running to save his mom. Mom won out, and he shoved the pack into a nearby bush and sprinted back to the house. He shoved his way through the door and stumbled into the kitchen._

_Sorivelli stood over Neal's mom. Her face was frozen in shock, and Sorivelli held a gun. A dark stain spread across her pastel yellow shirt, and Neal watched in horror and Sorivelli turned to him._

_"What were you doing outside?" The cold words froze Neal in place for a fraction of a second._

_"Catching some platypeople." Neal didn't stay to see the confusion flicker across Sorivelli's face at that gibberish statement. His life was clearly in danger, and there was only one thing left to do._

_Neal ran, and somehow he made it. Somehow he slipped out of Sorivelli's grasp and he didn't stop running until he was out of the state. By then the paper was worn and dirty from being pulled out so often, but the number was still legible._

_At a payphone outside a obscure gas station, Neal finally stopped for long enough to make that phone call. With shaking fingers and vision blurred from exhaustion, Neal dialed the number…_

…

"… Neal."

"Don't say anything. I had a kind of messed up childhood." Neal gave Peter a weak smile. "I'm not kidding when I tell you I'm okay." Neal shrugged and slouched into the chair. "Now you know some of the history, and I don't think either of us have the energy to go into the other part."

"There's another part?"

Neal gave Peter a _look_. "Yeah. To put it kindly."

"Ah." Peter backed down and they settled back into silence.

There was nothing left to do but wait.

…

A doctor walked in. "Family of Diana Berrigan?"

Neal and Peter rose to their feet simeultaneously. "Yes."

"How's she doing?" Neal asked.

"She's fine," the doctor assured him. "She's stable, doing well under the circumstances. Do you want to see her?"

Peter nodded and answered for both of them. "Yeah."

Neal followed the doctor and Peter through the pastel halls and eventually into a room. There, in front of them, was Diana.

Neal almost puked at the number of machines the agent was hooked up to. She looked anything but peaceful, a small frown creasing her forehead. The most disconcerting thing was that she didn't move at all, other than the steady rise and fall of her chest.

A wave of nausea hit him. Neal turned to Peter. "I need to leave."

"Okay. Do you want me to drive you to June's, or are you going to stay with us?" Peter didn't look away from Diana.

Neal shook his head. "Peter, you don't understand. Diana is here because of me. I have to leave, and leave fast. Otherwise Sorivelli will kill everyone close to me. I need to get as far away from New York as I can."

Peter turned to face Neal. "Caffrey, you aren't leaving. You will stay here, we will catch Sorivelli, and everything will go back to normal. I'm not letting you leave. I know some of the story, and I know that it's dangerous, but we'll catch him."

"Do you think I _want_ to leave?" Neal snapped. "I have to leave to protect you. To protect El. And June, and Diana, and Jones, and Hughes, and Mozzie. Hell, I have to leave to protect Satchmo. If I stay here..."

"You aren't leaving," Peter repeated firmly. "I'm going to get El and June a 24/7 guard. I would do the same for Mozzie but I don't think he would appreciate it. We have FBI resources. We'll catch Sorivelli without you leaving town. Caffrey, if I have to I will handcuff you to my bed to make sure you don't leave."

"Really Peter? That sounds fun. Does El know that you're going to handcuff me to your bed?" Neal asked, trying to force his tone to be lighthearted.

"Yes, she does. Point is, you aren't leaving."

Neal turned towards the door. "I have to, Peter. It's the only way."

Peter moved so fast that Neal didn't register that he was moving. Neal only noticed that his friend had moved from the chair beside Diana's bed when his cheek was pressed against the wall and Peter was securing the cuffs around his wrists.

"I'm serious when I say you aren't leaving, Neal," Peter said softly in his ear.

Neal struggled. "Lemme go, Peter!"

"No. I'm not going to let you run just because some nutjob from your past came and started dropping threats. Yeah, he kidnapped Diana but given the circumstances things could have been a hell of a lot worse. He says he'll kill me, but I have ways of keeping safe. You aren't leaving. Do you understand that, Neal?"

Neal shook his head. "Peter, I can't stay here!"

"You can and you will. I'm not going to let you go until you say you understand that you aren't leaving."

Minutes passed before Neal could bring himself to mutter, "Fine! I won't leave. I understand. But this isn't going to end well."

Peter released the younger man but kept the cuffs on. "We both need to make some phone calls. I'm willing to take the cuffs off, even give you some privacy, but you have to promise not to run."

Neal narrowed his eyes. "The catch?"

Peter sank back into the chair. "Caffrey, go into the bathroom, make your calls. I'm going to stay out here, call my wife, let her know that we're all safe, and then we can work it out from there. I'll also get some agents to watch out for June and El..."

Neal decided not to argue and slipped quietly into the bathroom, pulling out his phone as he went.

"Yes, mon frere?"

Neal leaned heavily against the wall, slowly lowering himself to the ground. "Moz, Diana's fine. Peter's going to get someone to make sure El and June won't be Sorivelli's next target, but you're on that list too, and I still don't know what to do about Peter himself. Sorivelli makes good on his threats."

"I don't need a Suit breathing down my neck. I'll drop off the map. How long until its safe, do you think?"

Neal sighed. "Moz, I don't know anymore. You seriously need to do a good job though. Dante Haversham can't exist anymore. Sorivelli's good, and if you leave a single trace..."

"I'll be fine. So until next time?"

"If there is a next time," Neal replied dubiously.

"Don't talk like that. The universe works in strange ways. This will all work out in the end. Trust me."

Neal closed his eyes and rested his head in the corner. "Sure Moz. This is all gonna end with Sorivelli turning himself in and life going on normally. Diana won't have scars up and down her arms from where he cut her or anything. We'll just forget about all of this."

"Neal, it's only a matter of time before Sorivelli is thrown behind bars, and I think that you have the best odds this time. You do have the Suits on your side this time, after all. So until next time, my friend."

"Bye, Moz. Whatever you do, don't get yourself killed."

"I think you'll have more trouble with that than I, but we'll see."

Neal sat, staring blankly at the wall across from him for a few minutes. He would have stayed longer, if he was allowed to.

"Hey buddy, you alright in there?" Peter asked, banging on the door.

Neal stood up and unlocked the door. "Yeah. Just... tired."

"Yeah, I think we all are. Go home and get some rest. I'll call you in the morning."

Neal nodded dimly and made his way out the door. After he got some sleep he would figure out where to go from here, assuming Peter made it through the night.

"Peter?" he called, halfway out of the hospital room.

"Jones is bringing me a bullet proof vest, and I don't plan on going home tonight. I have my gun right here, and there'll be an FBI guard outside the door in a couple minutes. I'll be fine."

"I'll stay until Jones gets here."

"Whatever floats your boat."

Neal sat in the other chair. He was asleep in less than a minute.

**Longer chapter, but it might be less polished. The last part was something that I wrote before this, and I modified it a bit to make it fit, but I'm not sure I caught everything. It's getting late and I need to go do my homework.**

**I had something else I wanted to include… Ah well.**

**Reviews, pretty please?**


	9. Chapter 9

Neal prided himself on being a light sleeper. But somehow he didn't wake up when Jones arrived and Peter decided to spend the rest of the night. No one bothered to wake Neal up when Peter left to get coffee and call El. And Neal definitely should have woken when the silenced gun went off in the hall as Peter was making his way back.

But Neal didn't, so here he was.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. No. When Neal thought about what his future might hold, it seemed inevitable that he would be injured at some point. What seemed just as inevitable was that Peter would be the one sitting at _his_ bedside and cursing the day they ever took on that case, and not the other way around.

To put it kindly, Neal was anything but equipped to deal with this. Seeing his friend lying there, heavily medicated and unconscious managed to top the list of things he never wanted to see again. Peter was supposed to be alive, and there for Neal. Peter was _not_ allowed to die on him! If anything, Neal was the one who deserved the bullet – after all, it was _his_ fault Sorivelli was here. Sorivelli wanted _him_.

"Neal, it's not your fault. Peter's still alive, and the doctors say that he should make a full recovery."

Neal stared listlessly at the wall. "El, it _is _my fault. Hell, I'm putting you in danger just by being here with you."

Diana would have died, and Peter was only alive through blind luck. Sorivelli was cocky, sending someone to kill Peter in a hospital. Neal couldn't help but admit that there was only so much luck to go around. The next time Sorivelli went after someone his bullet was likely to hit its mark.

The uniform walls started to press in on him. Neal knew that he needed to leave, and he needed to leave soon. The only question was how. He could cut the anklet and run, but that would send US Marshals after him immediately. He needed the key, but the idea of stealing it sickened him.

Neal stood up. "El, I have to go. I – Tell Peter I'm sorry when he wakes up."

She looked at him. "Okay, Neal. Be careful."

"Yeah."

Neal opened the door and nodded to the agent standing outside. He slipped down the hall without a backward glance. When Peter woke up, he would be pissed.

….

By the time the sun went down, Neal's room had been fully repaired. The shelves were empty, yes, and the room still smelled of fresh paint, but that didn't matter. In a futile attempt to soothe his frayed nerves he set up his canvas and painted. When the door swung open, his heart missed a beat and he jumped reflexively.

"It's me," Mozzie said quickly. "I heard about the Suit."

"He'll live," Neal replied. "The bullet missed his heart."

"Tell him I send my condolences. I know how it is."

Neal set down his paintbrush and reached for the rag. He kept his eyes fixed on his hands as he wiped some of the fresher paint off. "I can't go back, Moz."

"I didn't think so. Do you want out?"

Neal froze. "What?"

"I have the key to your anklet."

**A/N: A shorter chapter… I don't even want to know how long it's been since I last updated. However, the next update should be coming by tomorrow, since I already have it written. This whole thing should be finished by Monday.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Okay, so to avoid any confusion, this starts after the first chapter I posted. Neal managed to get away with relatively few difficulties. I know I wrote a chapter detailing how he escaped, but I can't open the file on this computer and I can't for the life of me find it on my other computer… **

_One year, five months later_

Nick Halden moved through the packed airport, allowing himself to be pushed and prodded along in the wave of bodies headed towards the exits. He had a glowing tan from months spent in various places with tons of sunshine, though you couldn't really see it through his coat and scarf. Anyone who had known Neal Caffrey from all those years ago would recognize the fedora pulled low over the man's eyes. He knew he was taking a risk with the hat, but to be honest he couldn't bear to part with it, and he was fairly confident that no one from back then would recognize him as he was now, looking for all the world like an innocent tourist.

When he was finally deposited in front of the airport Nick took a deep breath of the crisp air. His breath hung in the air for a moment, icy crystals showing him how cold it was. The skies were a familiar but soft gray, and for the first time in over a year Neal Caffrey felt at home as the noise of the city surrounded him. He could go anywhere, be anything, but really he longed for New York and the FBI offices, with the crappy coffee and double-finger points from Hughes. And sometimes, just sometimes, he missed the familiar weight of the tracker on his ankle. But most of all he missed Peter and Moz.

They were the reasons that he had come home.

He smiled to himself as he started walking down the street, getting farther away from the airport so he wouldn't have to fight as much for a cab. A couple blocks away he hailed a taxi like someone who had been doing it for their whole life. It was only when he was enveloped in the warmth of the cab that he realized he had no clue where he could go. He doubted June had kept his room for him after all these years, and Peter would just slap some cuffs on him and ask questions later. Moz was laying low after an exceedingly risky con, and Alex was off in Europe somewhere. Probably Italy, knowing her.

He was back here, in the only place that had ever felt like home, and with no place to go. Yet, he found himself rattling off an address, as if he had come here with a purpose in mind. The address sounded familiar, though he wasn't sure why.

Twenty minutes later, the taxi stopped at a cemetery. Neal's breath caught in his throat as he realized exactly where he was. For a second he just sat there, staring out the icy window until the driver gave a rather obvious cough.

Neal jumped a little and then passed the money over after fumbling in his pocket, a generous tip in the mix. On shaky legs he climbed out of the cab.

The one person who would never, ever leave New York, the one who would be glad to see him and still in the same spot as she had been when he left, was dead.

…

Peter trudged through the frozen cemetery, flowers in hand. He knew where what was left of Kate was buried, and doing this made him feel like Caffrey was still in this city. Besides, wherever Neal was, he would have wanted somebody to make sure that flowers were left regularly.

_He's not dead, you know_, Peter reminded himself. _You make it sound like Caffrey's dead, but really he's just off… somewhere. Probably in the tropics, or Europe. He's just anywhere but here._

When Peter reached the headstone he crouched down. He pulled a Kleenex out of his pocket and brushed away the dirt and grime, his fingers brushing against the un-assuming inscription on the plain stone: Kate Moreau. There was a date of birth and date of death, but Peter doubted the first meant anything, and he knew that the second was a lie.

Peter gently laid the flowers down on the frozen earth. He straightened up hurriedly when he sensed someone come up behind him. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and head down, started to make his way back through the cemetery.

_Wherever Caffrey is now, I hope he's having a nice life. _

Peter wasn't expecting a hand to grab his arm, but he really wasn't expecting an all too familiar voice exclaim, "Peter?"

….

Neal wove his way through the various headstones, all fancier and bolder than the one that belonged to the love of his life. The path was a familiar one, maybe more so than it should have been as the cemetery had been out of his radius and he had been away for so long.

As he neared Kate's grave he noticed a man crouched beside her headstone. The man was wearing a tan trench coat, much like the one Peter used to wear. In one hand there were flowers, and with the other he appeared to be wiping down the headstone.

Almost instinctively, Neal shrunk back into the shadows of a very helpful nearby tree. The man might be a gardener, or he might be a distant friend of Kate's who was in town and came to say one last goodbye. Either way, Neal didn't exactly want to be seen here. A casual word mentioned to a friend could possibly get back to Peter, and Neal wasn't sure he wanted that. So instead of going over and introducing himself or something, one of New York's finest con men stayed hidden in the shadows of a leafless tree.

After a few minutes, Neal decided that honestly, he had nothing to lose. If the man up by Kate's grave recognized him, so be it. It shouldn't matter to him anymore; he could be out of the city in less than an hour if need be. He soundlessly slipped out from behind the tree and, with the self-taught confidence of a con man, approached the stranger at his girlfriend's grave.

The man, having just finished laying down a beautiful bouquet, rapidly straightened up. He brushed by Neal with his head down and hands stuffed in his pockets, but Neal would recognize the FBI agent who had arrested him all those years earlier anywhere.

Impulsively, before his brain could catch up to the possible consequences, Neal reached out and grabbed his friend and partner's arm. Before he could stop it, a single name left his mouth: "Peter?"

The man turned around, and Neal felt his face light up. Peter was exactly how the art thief had remembered him, down to the same suit that the agent had been wearing when he arrested Neal.

"Caffrey?" Peter asked, obviously surprised.

Neal found himself grinning, and even though it might have been his thousand-watt smile, it was sincere and he honestly couldn't help it this time. "Hey buddy, how's it been?"

Peter shrugged, and then, after searching for something to say, replied with, "You're out of your radius."

Neal nodded. "Just a bit. I did it to save you though; you realize that you had a huge target on your back because of me, right? Sorivelli was going to have your head on a silver platter or whatever the twenty-first century equivalent is to get me mad before he picked me off. Peter, I couldn't just let you be killed like that, I had to do something, and leaving all this behind seemed like the only option. It was the only option where everyone could stay alive, really. I'm sorry, Peter. I miss this city, and I miss boring mortgage fraud cases, but most of all I miss working with you because you're my best friend and the only person in my life I trust. Please say you forgive me, Peter."

The words came out fast, and Peter could hardly keep up with it all. Neal sounded almost like a little five year old who had broken a vase and was asking for forgiveness, the end an obvious plea that Peter was fairly certain hadn't been planned. He smiled to himself; he had thrown the great Neal Caffrey off balance just by coming to a cemetery.

He watched the younger man's face as he responded. For once the mask wasn't up, and Peter got what he was pretty sure was as close to honest as you got with Neal Caffrey. The con man's eyes were slightly concerned, but his face was open and clearly hopeful.

"Neal, of course I forgive you. It might take some doing, but I wouldn't mind if you came back to work for me. Now come on, the Taurus is parked a couple blocks away."

Neal shifted backwards slightly, the mask coming back up. "What? Why would I need to get in your car? Peter…" the end trailed off, a slightly panicked look coming into his eyes as he scanned Peter for handcuffs.

Peter rested a reassuring hand on Neal's shoulder. "Hey, its fine. Well, it will be if you come with me, anyway." The agent made a face, trying not to let it show when he felt the younger man's shoulder tense beneath his hand. "We both know that El would kill us both if I told her that I saw you and didn't bring you home, especially considering how close it is to Christmas. Besides, you look like you haven't had a good dinner in a while. And she's making that one chicken thing you like."

"Peter, I can't. Sorivelli is still out there, somewhere. It's dangerous enough coming here and talking to you."

A slow grin spread across Peter's face. "You didn't hear?"

"Hear what?"

"He's dead. They found his body floating in the Hudson a month ago. Neal, you don't have to worry anymore."

Neal's face was a study of conflicting emotions. He seemed ecstatic but sad, uncertain but in familiar territory. He looked afraid but calm, certain but confused. Finally, he managed to say, "Peter, are you sure you want to take me back?"

"Yes, Caffrey. I'm going to take you home and El's going to get some food into you. Then we'll talk about what happened and how we're going to keep you out from behind bars."

Neal relaxed visibly. "Okay," he agreed. "One second."

He knelt down on the snow encrusted ground next to the grave and rearranged the flowers. Then, with loving fingers, he brushed the accumulated grime away from a tiny but intricate rose beautifully engraved on one corner of the headstone. Peter had never noticed it before.

Neal smiled slightly at Peter's confused look and mumbled, "I couldn't just let the best work I've ever done fade away, could I? Especially not here, and now, and considering where it is."

Peter frowned, and then his mouth opened as he realized what Neal had said. Neal smirked and turned away when he realized what the next thing Peter was going to say was. And sure enough…

"CAFFREY!"

If there had been any birds in the city they would have taken to the skies. As it was, Neal just kept walking. When he reached the gates he stopped and waited for Peter. When his friend was almost caught up to him, Neal resumed his walk. Peter slowly caught up to him until they were walking side by side. Right before they reached the Taurus, Peter clapped him on the back and said, "It's good to have you back, buddy. As long as you don't have any more surprises like that for me, anyway."

Neal smirked again. "It's good to be back. And about those other surprises? How about I tell you more about those various surprises in a couple years when the statue of limitations is up on them?"

Peter looked up, shaking his head.

Neal grinned at him and then climbed into the Taurus, ready to go home. It was time to return to forever.

**A/N: Well, I finished this, finally. It took me long enough. :P I'm probably going to disappear for a bit, until the plot bunnies attack again. I have a vague idea for a prequel to Escaping the Rut, and I'm tempted to try my hand at drabbles. That, and there's always the sequel to Kate that I started and is currently rotting, even though the first chapter is one of the best things I've ever written... Perhaps I'll find some way to tweak it so it can be posted as a oneshot. But whatever I do, you probably won't be seeing much of me until April (and Screnzy) is over.**

**Oh, and sorry for any random stuff in this. It was written shortly after I posted the first chapter (!) so... I read over it but some parts still leave me wondering what I was thinking.**


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